Blooming
by lucidfox
Summary: On a diplomatic mission abroad, Elsa and Anna meet a young princess of a distant southern kingdom and pay a visit to her homeland. Little do they know that their new friend's past is tainted by dark secrets, and the kingdom is not as idyllic as it appears...


_Die Nixen auf dem Grund,  
die geben's flüsternd kund,  
was Alles du erschaut,  
seit dem über dir der Himmel blaut._

_Drum schon in alter Zeit  
ward dir manch' Lied geweiht;  
und mit dem hellsten Klang  
preist immer auf's Neu' dich unser Sang._

**1. The Royal Congress**

If one wanted to travel all the way along the stretch of the Old World, from the shores of the Welcoming Sea in the east to the border of Lumineux in the west, there would be no better route than the River Verdant, even if it meant sailing upstream.

The lands it flowed through, by and large, were untouched preserves of nature. At that time, the Industrial Revolution had already raised its ugly head, smoking its coal-stuffed pipe, but railroads and locomotives, the poor man's magic carriages, were still few and far between, mostly relegated to just a few routes between the old capitals of the West.

The Verdant didn't freeze even in winter, never ceasing the slow, smooth turn of its waters so characteristic of plain rivers, and in summer, like now, the views from the river would bless a traveler's eyes with sunlit meadows, their green grass interspersed with the yellow caps of dandelions, and lush broadleaf forests that stretched on and on with nary a hill in sight, still retaining some of their enchanted charm from the older times when magic was as common as dirt.

If somewhere in the Old World there was an exact antithesis to the snowy mountains of Arendelle, then this was it.

It was not to last, of course, and even the workers who were, right now, installing the support beams of a new railroad bridge across the Verdant, and the woodcutters clearing the way for the future road itself from the bank onwards, could feel a hint of sadness for the nature that yielded to their axes and hammers. Perhaps their cheerful, upbeat song was a way of coping, or distracting themselves from such thoughts.

The foreman, wiping the sweat off his forehead, looked downstream, into the distance – and noticed something in the distance.

A ship.

It was approaching the construction site unusually fast, to the point that the foreman could soon make out its features. A classic, fully-rigged ship that evoked memories of the Age of Discovery, not one of those newfangled steam ones. Despite its impressive size, however, it didn't feel heavy; instead its elegantly shaped hull evoked the impression that it was lightweight, floating effortlessly over the river. Its figurehead was a statue of a loose-haired woman in flowing robes – some kind of ancient goddess, no doubt.

It took no genius to determine the ship's origin. Both the sails and the hull were blinding white, painted with golden stripes, and the flags showed a golden laurel on a white field.

"Notoeros," muttered the foreman, with slight contempt. "Of course."

One more unusual feature of this ship was its apparent absence of any crew, all the more puzzling given its size. Normally it would be quite unwieldy to manage and steer, but as it stood, there seemed to be only two people on the entire upper deck. One was the helmsman, and whenever he turned the wheel, the entire ship easily turned with no obvious means of steering,. the square sails somehow staying inflated in any direction despite almost complete lack of wind.

The other was a cheerful girl of late teens or early twenties, who stood at the bow, smiling cheerfully with arms spread wide, and apparently enjoying this voyage. She had long blonde, almost golden hair and wore a loose white raiment with wide sleeves that resembled wings; the foreman immediately noted her uncanny resemblance to the figurehead statue.

He moved his eyes away from the ship, back to the support beams, and snorted. "Well, with a passenger like that, there's only one place they could be going."

And indeed, the _Hydris_, the royal ship of the Kingdom of Notoeros, had only one obvious destination.

Further up the River Verdant, where it began its convenient skirt around the Arial Mountains, there stood a city. It was not the most notable city in the Old World; it was less famous than Luxartes, the City of Light and Magic, or Sirenis, the City of Masks and Canals. It was not the most beautiful city, nor the most iconic, nor the most visited.

But right now, on this day, Immereach, the City of Music, was the most important city of them all. And not because it was the capital of the Eastereach Empire, the largest country in the world. No, its influence was more far-reaching than that.

It was the seat of the Royal Congress.

Empress Sophia looked at the Summer Palace as her carriage stopped in the courtyard. It was a majestic four-story building of white marble, rising above a field of clear ponds and lavish gardens trimmed in geometrically proper fashions, and its ornamented walls, archways, and classical statues at the entrance gave it an almost ephemeral, lightweight feel.

She always thought this was a fitting palace for a new capital. A new beginning, a new chapter in the history of the empire; a booming city whose growth could be carefully guided and directed along the routes she desired. She remembered the old capital, back in her youth; back when her every need was tended to, and Father and Mother, not her, were the ones who had to make all the hard decisions. She recalled how she dreamt of tearing down Tretireach, that ugly cobbled-together city of dirty narrow streets, and rebuilding it as something grand, something to impress the world enough to remember her by.

...And then the Lumineuse army burned the old capital to the ground in the Great War, she lost her parents overnight and had to flee, and suddenly these dreams came to a halt.

Now, in her late forties, in hindsight she found her younger self too naïve and idealistic. But then, wasn't it true of all young royals? Didn't they think that the whole world revolved around them? That they were born to change it, and, like the proverbial scientist of old, only needed the right leverage to overturn the planet? But no, Sophia wouldn't let them. No matter who this Queen Elsa thought she was, no matter who everyone else thought she was, to the Empress she was just an overzealous youth who hadn't yet tasted _real politics_.

Real politics, after all, were about patience. And concessions, and compromises. Compromises like admitting this tiny northern kingdom into the prestigious circle of the Great Powers, which had stayed unchanged ever since the Great War.

Arendelle? Of all the countries in the world, Arendelle was now a Great Power? Unbelievable. Before _the diplomatic incident_, Sophia would have trouble even finding it on the map; who cared about the Frozen North? That kingdom didn't have the naval power and overseas expanse of Mariton, or the industrial and military might of Grauwald, or the sheer territory and natural resources controlled by Eastereach, or the ancient wealth and knowledge of Notoeros. And yet, the other three of the old Great Powers voted for Arendelle's admission, and for an extraordinary session of the Congress, with such haste that Sophia had no choice but to agree.

It was all because of one person, of course. But that one person was worth any army.

They didn't want to admit it, oh no. They officially phrased it as... what was the term again? "In recognition of historical diplomatic and maritime significance." But Sophia knew the truth that was only conveyed in hushed whispers and glances.

The were scared. They feared the Witch Queen.

They feared what she had done, and what she could do. To them.

Such were the thoughts of Empress Sophia as she walked the polished marble floors of her palace, ascending to the top floor where the conference hall resided. It was dim inside at first, but not for long; the servants were opening the windows left and right, along with all the doors in her way right before she was to step through them. Light came in; the palace was ready for the guests.

The Empress entered the conference hall slowly and proudly, as it befit her stature. It was a spacious room, with walls of gold-encrusted marble covered with portraits of past rulers of Eastereach, with a round table of polished red wood in the middle. One feature separated it from all the other sights in the palace: its ceiling was domed, a hemisphere split into eight sections with a different classical mural each, and a tiny window in the center of the dome was designed so that a narrow beam of light would pass through it and land directly at the center of the table.

To the architect, this light probably symbolized something – the descent of divine grace, or something like that. Sophia just found it gratuitous, and somewhat impractical. Perhaps this place needed a makeover, too – but who was she to go against artistic integrity?

She looked out of the large, wall-high window. As the palace was built on the edge of Immereach, overlooking an open field, from here she could clearly see carriage after carriage entering the city through the famous Round Gate; even though these, so far, did not belong to any delegations, a crowd had already assembled around the Gate, buzzing in anticipation of the royal arrivals.

And Sophia knew which one delegation the people anticipated the most. Visits from Mariton, Grauwald, even Notoeros were common enough not to warrant mention; but everyone longed to see the Queen of Arendelle for the first time.

This was going to be a long day.

"The delegates have arrived, Your Majesty," reported a palace guard downstairs at the entrance, seeing Sophia descend.

"I saw," said the Empress. "Open the gates!"

Five other guards obeyed, pushing out five sets of double doors opening into the courtyard. The warm sun and a flow of fresh air streamed in, and Sophia saw the crowd outside, standing at both sides of the wide road to the palace and keeping it clear for the carriages. The crowd was quite a colorful lot, both nobles and commoners – and of course, the delegates themselves with their aides and bodyguards. There were even poor-looking children among the onlookers: the Royal Congress was a rare event, after all, assembling only about once a decade. This one was an exception, scheduled only three years after the last one, but the circumstances were... special.

"Which of them are here?" asked Sophia.

"All except Arendelle," said the guard.

"As expected." Sophia scoffed. "Though they still have a few minutes not to be late. Tell the others to come in."

The guard made a few hand signs to the ones outside, who turned to the crowd. The herald announced King Otto of Grauwald, and on cue, fast-paced, majestic music flowed from above. There were musicians on the wide balcony above the gates, of course; not enough room for a full orchestra, but enough for the carefully rehearsed fanfare.

Yes, except for the Arendelle delegation being late, the ceremony was going according to the script. Everyone knew their place.

King Otto – a bulky man with light hair and a heavy moustache, in a grey uniform with golden epaulets – approached Sophia with a squad of six blue-coated riflemen behind him. They marched in perfect unison, as if they were on a military parade and he was the commander of these soldiers.

Next was King Edward of Mariton. He was an almost impossibly tall man in his mid-thirties with longer-than-regulation black hair, in a double-breasted dark blue Royal Navy uniform. What caught Sophia's attention, however, was neither his rolling gait and weather-beaten face of a sailor, nor his escort of four redcoats who could as well be statues for all the emotion they showed. It was the man at the King's side who surprised Sophia. He was old and short, about a head and a half shorter than the bodyguards; visibly balding, with a grey moustache, wearing round glasses and proudly sporting four medals on his uniform. That was four more than the King had.

"I thought you were coming with the Countess of Panton?" asked Sophia.

"Unfortunately, she is otherwise occupied," said King Edward, "as is the Countess of Semiton. Besides, the Duke of Weselton has personal reasons for volunteering to accompany me. Personal disagreements with the _Regina Malefica_. Isn't that right, Your Grace?"

"Oh, don't remind me, Your Majesty!" the Duke said to Edward, then turned to the Empress and bowed so far down that she almost expected the obviously-false hair at the top of his head to come off. Surprisingly, it didn't – perhaps it was glued on securely enough.

"As the former envoy to Arendelle, I'm here to demand compensation! The Witch Queen violated my diplomatic immunity and threw me out without legal grounds. This is an outrage!"

The Duke waved his arms angrily and stomped on the ground; Sophia barely suppressed a smile. She couldn't display a reaction, though. It would be improper. King Edward cast a semi-apologetic _I have no part in this_ look at her.

"We'll see," she said coldly. "You can voice your _personal_ disagreements when Queen Elsa arrives." She made special emphasis on the word personal. "They're not why we're here."

As she spoke, the third king walked – or rather, rolled – to the palace gate. King Stephanos of Notoeros was an old, wrinkled man with a long white beard that gave him the appearance of a classical philosopher. Indeed, it was like one of those marble busts of old came alive, except in really poor health. He sat in a wheelchair – which was new, as he had been able to walk on his own just three years ago – and looked like he had difficulty concentrating or even keeping his eyes open.

Two guards in tight ceremonial uniforms stood at his side, and the wheelchair was propelled by two women Sophia did not recognize.

One was a girl barely of age, dressed in a loose white robe, with an almost unnaturally smooth round face and chest-long wavy golden hair; her skin, too, seemed too light for Notoeros, more fitting for the north than the south. Her blue eyes seemed permanently wide open, as if in constant awe of her surroundings.

The other looked about forty, though her weary eyes looked more fitting for a far older age. Deathly pale, green-eyed, she wore all black: a loose dress with a high collar, a long cloak that dragged on the ground behind her, and a tall, two-pointed hat that hid all her hair under it – if she even had any hair. She carried a staff, using it as a walking stick, its tip decorated with the head of a black bird. A raven, perhaps?

"Meet my daughter, Princess Eos," said Stephanos slowly. It evidently took him effort to speak. "The one I told you about. She's just come of age, and I thought it was time she saw the world outside our palace."

_Which of the two?_ Sophia didn't say. It was rather obvious. Coming of age in Notoeros would mean... what, eighteen? The older woman really didn't look the part.

"Pleased to meet you at long last, Your Highness," said the Empress, forcing a polite smile. "And you, milady, would be?.." she asked, turning to the black-robed woman.

"..."

She was met with an emotionless, studying expression.

"This is my mentor, Royal Advisor Achlys," said the fair girl hastily. "She doesn't talk much."

Mentor?

Sophia took a skeptical look at the two of them. One white, the other black. One cheerful, the other reserved. One looked friendly and inviting, and the other... offputting and alien. How could these two be teacher and student?

King Otto interrupted the awkward silence by looking at the large clock on the palace's roof. "It's time to start, isn't it?"

Sophia looked at the clock too.

"No. The Arendelle delegation still has a minute not to be late."

"Oh, really?" snorted the Duke of Weselton. "As if they'd arrive at the last minute before their _gross_ violation of Congress etiquette."

"Congress etiquette demands we wait until _exactly_ twelve, and not a second earlier," said Sophia. "And this is what we're going to do."

She looked at the clock again.

Eleven, fifty nine and thirty seconds. Nothing.

Forty seconds. Nothing.

As the arrow reached fifty seconds, a sudden chill wind blew from outside the courtyard. The crowd at the sides of the road turned to the courtyard gate, gasping. The road itself – a perfectly straight strip of cobbled stone dividing the courtyard exactly in half – froze over with shiny blue ice, with geometric precision.

At the courtyard gate, there stood two silhouettes. They made a few steps forward out of the shadow of the outer wall, and Sophia could see them clearly now. They were both slender young women, almost girls, and they seemed to have arrived by themselves, with no escort.

One, blonde with a single braid, wore a sparkling dress of light blue – the same shade of blue as the icy floor – with a thin, translucent cloak. Her steady gait was graceful and calm, and oddly relaxed, mixing royal dignity with the natural ease that actually made Sophia warm up to her a little. It was clear that she wasn't faking her first impressions; what everyone saw matched what she really was.

To her right walked a cheeky, freckled redhead with hair neatly gathered into a bun, in a bulky green dress with a sleeveless black top. She looked uncomfortable with it, and Sophia knew why: the corset was obviously too tight. Nevertheless, she seemed happy and energetic, jumping slightly on the move, in a way that indicated impatience with the official slow pace of the walk.

The clock bell did not yet finish striking twelve times as the herald announced pompously:

"Her Majesty Queen Elsa and Princess Anna of Arendelle!"


End file.
